In Need of You
by DanaeP24
Summary: Sherlock Holmes receives one of the most interesting cases he has ever gotten, but he needs someone to solve it.
1. Bored

He had been bored for a few days now. London had been wrapped in a period of peace and quiet, which meant that the criminals were getting lazy, at least to his standards. His inbox only had a few cases, none above a 4, and all of them had been either dismissed or solved without leaving the flat.

"This is annoying, my dear Billy. No interesting cases, no one is murdering anyone, so I feel myself rotting away. I need something!" said Sherlock, addressing the skull that currently occupied the seat belonging to his previous flatmate, Dr. John Watson, who at the time was attending to his wife and 6 month old daughter.

Sherlock headed towards the drawer on his desk, his fingers itching for the contact of the cold metal pistol that sat there, pulling it out carefully, as if dealing with a delicate flower. He held it up, pointing at the already beaten wall. "Maybe our little smiling friend needs some hair, don't you think?". His finger wrapped around the trigger, his feet planted on the floor, awaiting the recoil of the gun, his mind honed to make the shot, when his concentration was interrupted by a little ping coming from his computer.

"Finally!" A new email had arrived at his inbox, which meant a new case. Sherlock proceeded to put the lock on the gun, and then tossed it on the sofa, and sat down at the desk, with the hopes that someone had given him something of interest.

"Deer Mister Holms,

I 4 realsies need ur help!

Liek, I totally cannot find mae totes fave iPhone. It disapaered on me liek puff! And if I don find it soon my daddy is totes gonna keel me, like 4 realsies!

my BFF meghan totally digs you and she is like totatlly like in luv wit U! she even has her room filled with ur face like wahtever,so she told me to ask u to like help me, cuz of yur like sooperpower or whatever you have that can totaaly find like all thingds.

Ansd can like u doit like really really fast, cuz tomorrow Im going shoppin and will need to take selfies and pics, if not ill ve like totes a luser 4 not having my new phone.

C u latr!

Kathrina"

He could almost feel his blood boiling over such atrocity he had just been exposed to, and wished that he hadn't thrown the gun so far from the desk, thinking that it was now the laptop screen's fault for daring to display such an insulting case, so he resorted to slam shut the screen and curl up on the couch.

Instead of being able to delve into his thoughts, his mind was refusing to accept such message to go without some sort of snarky response. He went back to the desk, reopened the laptop and proceeded to type the following response.

"Miss,

I would firstly suggest for you and your parents to invest in either an English tutor to improve your grammar, or at least contemplate the idea of sending you back to kindergarten.

If I understood correctly, your phone is currently missing, but it is not. This is all a ploy from your "BFF" Meghan, who, as you say, has developed sentiments that I shall not even acknowledge, because they are of no use. She has your phone at her house, which she took from you and then proceeded to suggest that you should employ my services in the hopes that she would be able to meet me.

In regards of payment, I have already notified your parents about you contacting me, and have billed them properly. I believe your shopping indulgences will come to an end going from the tone of the response message I received from your father.

Next time, be considerate of my time and not waste it with such trivial matters.

S. Holmes"

Grinning like a madman, Sherlock pressed the send button, and closed the laptop, carefully this time. He was delighted to think of the yelling that the girl would endure, and the shock on the father's face when he saw the billing, which had been quite steep, even when the case could barely be considered a 1 on his scale. Sherlock didn't mind billing him so much, knowing that the father of the girl worked in the Department of Transport, in a rather important position, and was embezzling funds, so it seemed fitting charging so much for the inconvenience.

Sherlock was heading back to the couch, in order to resume with his attempt of going into his mind palace, when the familiar hurried steps of John Watson reached the door of 221B, opened the door and without removing his jacket, walked up to him, mobile at the ready, huge smile, indicative of something exciting. "Sherlock, mate, have I got a case for you!"


	2. Cache Mentions Stem

The dreams had come back. The flashbacks of the danger and the thrill that war had imprinted upon John Watson's brain. It had been a while since he had to deal with them, ever since learning that his wife was trained assassin and that he willingly went to bed with her every night, brought a tad of excitement to his life, but it seemed like it was no longer enough.

Becoming a parent, had so far been quite an experience for both him and Mary Morstan nee Watson although some could say that they had enough training taking care of one of the biggest babies they knew, a certain Consulting Detective. It was the unpredictability, the lack of a established schedule, and the immense love he felt for little Isabelle Watson that had substituted the need of adventure for the last 6 months.

Shame things had finally started to settle, with little Izzy now beginning to follow a somewhat normal sleeping and eating schedule, which made Mary most grateful, but John was suffering, and because of his previous track record, he had been forbidden to go storming in on crack dens, even if it meant being neighborly.

He had been in contact with Sherlock, in the hopes that a case would come up that would require them to get into some sort of action, or even some danger, only receiving a text message back telling him to stop being annoying, which would mean that Sherlock was equally as bored, and was also struggling to find ways to end his boredom.

Thankfully, John had the solace of his blog. When at first his psychiatrist had suggested for him to start writing, he dismissed the idea as a rather lame substitute to his experience in the war. But ever since his ridiculous adventures with Sherlock had begun, and his blog obtained a big notoriety, he found the thrill of writing as a good way of coping, plus, the idea that people had things to say about what he wrote was one of is guilty pleasures.

John had sneaked out of bed, the early rays of the sun already threatening to come through the window, and in attempt to leave both baby and mother to sleep peacefully, left the room as quietly as possible, heading towards the sitting room along with his laptop, so he could check on any new messages or comments on his blog.

This particular morning everything seemed quite normal, the usual messages saying how much they had loved the photo presentation on the last entry, or how well written the entry for the "Aluminum Crutch" was. The same came for the comments, which mostly were the same couple of people replying or arguing over some trivial thing, including several comments from Sherlock himself, which never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Since there were no indications of any new significant comments on the most recent entry, he decided to go back and look at the old entries, reminiscing about the tiny details he didn't include for the public, like the sight of Sherlock in full clown costume, with the big shoes and the red nose, trying to entertain a group of 8 year-olds just so they could interrogate one of the mothers attending the party, who turned out to be the President of a South American country and the key to solving the case.

John had been deep in his thoughts, that he didn't notice when Mary and Izzy joined him in the sitting room.

"Love, did you notice those weird comments on that entry up there? They kinda look like a code..." Mary pointed to the screen, while gently patting Izzy's back, in the hopes the baby would fall asleep again and would give her the opportunity for another nap.

"Mary, I still find it quite frightening the speed in which you recognize codes and patterns, but it is a bit sexy... But these make no sense at all, they are just random words strung together, probably a spammer. I don't really think that a comment like A_ Screech Folklores Mosh, A Checker Helms For Solos, Cheddar Tin Ritzy Knoll_ or _Danced Thorny Krill Zit_ have any meaning. "

"I don't think that's true, John. See the comments? From what I'm getting from here, is that they all have the same exact letters, just rearranged in a different order. They are anagrams."

In less than an hour, the couple had decoded the 2 messages that had been repeated in the avalanche of comments, Mary obtained further information while John got ready to go storming into Baker Street, no point in texting or calling Sherlock, since he knew it was more likely that his message or call would go ignored, and this was rather the answer to their needs, he needed to tell him in person.

Thankfully, John still had a key to his old flat, always conveniently forgetting to return it to Mrs. Hudson, and the one time he did, after he had a nasty domestic with Sherlock, the key had somehow returned to his keyring, either the work of his former flatmate, or maybe even Mary. He opened the door, and started his way up the stairs, ignoring his usual habit of a quick hello and bite to eat with Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock needed to see the message.

He found Sherlock in the usual position, lying on the sofa, his hands in a prayer position, resting underneath his chin, eyes closed. John's mobile was ready, displaying the decoded messages on the screen, just getting closer to him, mobile extended towards him. "Sherlock, mate, have I got a case for you!"

"This better be good, John, I'm not bothering for anything less than a 7 right now."

"Trust me, this more than a 7, Sherlock", said John, thrusting his mobile phone into Sherlock's hands, urging him to read the messages. He had a small sample of the original comments, as well as the final decoded messages: **Case for Sherlock Holmes** and **Not crazy, I didn't kill her**.

"So, anyone with a bit of a brain could have done this. Goodbye John, give my regards to baby Isabelle for me. " Said Sherlock, handing the phone back and turning his back to John, curling up in a ball on the sofa.

"Just hear me, mate. Mary checked where all these messages had come from. Turns out that they came from a cell tower near Hanwell Asylum. Also, some comments had the added letter STR, which are the initials of the famous author Sofia T. Rogers, who was sent to that Asylum after she killed the president of her fanclub. She kept insisting that the ghost of the girl was haunting her."

Sherlock had sat up and was trying to process the information given. He wasn't familiar with the author, popular culture had never been of any use for him, but he remembered the news of the killing. "Still, someone could be in the vicinity, using a cellphone, not an indication that the messages came from inside."

"That was my first impression too, but it turns out that her son also received several text messages with the same phrases, as well as a phone call. Mary found his contact information, since he is away in college in America. We reached out to him, and verified that he had gotten a call from his mother, that she kept saying that the ghost had dropped the mobile, for him to help her out, before the call was cut."

"Ghost don't have mobile phones, John. Either this ghost is not what it seems, or we really have something rather interesting in our hands. We need to pay a visit to our new client. The game is on!"


End file.
